Be Still My Heart
by MellaBrooke
Summary: Set years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort  but before the epilogue  this story is a look into Neville Longbottom's life  or lack there of. I got the idea from the song by The Postal Service.
1. Chapter 1

**OH-EM-GEE, MY BEE-EFF-EFF CHIYO THYRA! I'm back! And this time with some Neville goodness. XD**

**I'm uber excited about this story -- it's definitely my longest chapter to date and I really put a lot into this. I hope you guys enjoy it...**

**DISCLAIMER: Oh, I don't own anything. Seriously. JK owns it all. But I pwn her so it's okay. XD**

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Be Still My Heart

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Somewhere in the rapidly beating heart of the city of London – where a great number of muggles walk the streets completely ignorant of magic – nestled deep in a king-sized bed, was the oddly shaped form of a man. Lying underneath a ragged midnight blue comforter, he was almost indistinguishable from the pillows that surrounded him. The man, who could be heard lightly snoring despite the sound-muffling barrier provided by his bedding, was visibly unconscious to the lively world around him. From the mess of shaggy brown hair sprawled against his light blue pillow case, all the way down to the large sock-covered feet peeking out at the foot of the bed, it was obvious to anyone who would look upon him that he was completely unaware of anything going on outside his small one-bedroom flat. This wasn't just any oblivious man, though, he was, in fact, an oblivious wizard. A magic man, as it were. And this wizard's name was Neville Longbottom. 

Often at the sound of this name, great numbers of witches and wizards became teary-eyed. Not because they felt sympathy for the Neville Longbottom that was an innocent, stumbling boy with poor magical ability, but because they know and respect him as the brave, competent wizard responsible for aiding Harry Potter in the vanquishing of the Dark Lord – for good. After all, if not for Neville, the last horocrux would never have been destroyed and Voldemort would have won.

More often than not, an accomplishment such as this would go unforgotten and be brought up incessantly by the magical population for the rest of all time; however, since the incident at Hogwarts only years ago, Neville had made it perfectly clear that he wanted anything but the fame. He had always been a shy, nervous boy and in the years that had passed, he had become a calm man of no less bashfulness.

And now the same introverted man lay snug in his lonely, oversized bed – dreaming of _her_.

After his first dream, he had simply thought he was being nostalgic; missing all of his friends from Hogwarts – trying to forget how lonely he was now. But as the dream kept occurring, he came to realize that it revolved solely around _her_; a fact didn't surprise him in the least. He had always been in love with _her_.

In a secret kind of love, that he kept from the world.

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As the glowing red numbers of the clock on the nightstand flashed 11:11 AM, Neville was suddenly awoken by the sound of a jumbled radio signal emitting from the speakers. "Unbreak my heart; Say you love me again," the garbled voice of Toni Braxton sang loudly. Despite the static, he heard the words clearly and groaned. 

In the years he spent with Hannah, he had come to learn that it was her favorite song. And now, he couldn't help but realize the painful irony in the situation. Hannah's song had jarred him from _her _dream.

Throwing a long, pale arm out in slight irritation at both the rude awakening and the depressing song, he sent the alarm clock skidding off the bedside table and into the floor.

As the sound from the clock came to an abrupt halt, a triumphant and muffled chuckle came from underneath the ragged comforter. Neville had never liked that clock anyhow – in fact, he had only kept it because it had been a gift from Hermione. Truthfully, he was more than happy to see it go.

After a few moments of silent celebration about the demise of the alarm clock, he rolled over with a low groan and slowly sat up, his comforter falling to rest on the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked rapidly to adjust them to the light that instantly flooded them.

Glancing down at his now busted clock on the floor of his bedroom, Neville frowned. If the cursed thing had only given him five more minutes, he might have finished the dream – finally. Then, even if he would never know in real life, he would at least know how _her_ lips felt in his dream.

"Almost," he croaked quietly, placing his head in his hands. But then again, even he knew "almost" only counted in exploding snaps and some Yankee game called "horseshoes."

With a sigh, he lifted his head and looked out the window, where the sun was fighting through the clouds to stream in. It was a very rare day in London when the sun was even visible at all, so he took time to appreciate the few bright rays that had penetrated the dark clouds that usually loomed above the city.

After moments of sitting in silence and staring absent mindedly at the rays of light that just barely managed to shine on his plants on the window ledge, Neville finally left the warm comfort of his bed, shuffling noiselessly into the chilly bathroom.

As he passed the mirror above the sink, he paused briefly to observe the dark scruff that covered his face. Placing a hand on his chin, he felt the harsh hairs there that scratched the skin of his fingers lightly. The fact that he hadn't shaved in a week was evident, but none of the people at work had mentioned it to him.

In fact, not many people spoke to him at all now-a-days.

Not since the day of Hannah's funeral anyway.

Probably because they assumed he was still mourning her death. After all, he had always been a sensitive boy and it would only stand to reason he would also be a sensitive man. And if he were a sensitive man, he would obviously still need time to grieve. So, they went along their daily activities not bothering to stop and speak – trying to allow him to focus on his grieving. But even without them, Neville's mind was always somewhere else.

Truthfully, that should've been the reason his mind was in a constant state of distraction – the passing of his "dearly beloved" wife. But the truth of the matter was that _she_ had been at Hannah's funeral. And _she_ had looked so beautiful in her cerulean robes that he had forgotten to mourn – at least for the death of his wife. In fact, the only grief he felt that day was the sorrow of not having _her_ in his life.

Of course he had felt horrible about it. His wife was dead and all he could think about was another woman. It was almost infidelity. Despite this though, he couldn't help but mentally justify his actions. He had loved _her_ for forever; in a deep, almost unfortunate way. He had never felt that way about Hannah.

And as _she_ stood off to the side during the viewing, her blue-grey eyes staring blankly at the portraits of Hannah that adorned the walls, many of the older witches who were present took time to gossip about her.

One elderly witch in particular felt it necessary to remark on the color of her robes.

"You would think she would have respect for the dead," she muttered to one of her friends, who looked as if she was two hops and a skip away from dying herself.

Neville had been particularly irritated by that comment. _She_ was far too beautiful to wear any color other than blue – even if it was a funeral.

Even now, he was still irked about the comment and mentally made a note to hunt down his great aunt at the next family reunion.

Sighing softly, he reached down and turned on the faucet. He had no time left to linger on memories like that.

Grabbing the soap from its tray in the shower, he began to thoroughly wash his face. Though not many people other than Hannah knew, Neville Longbottom was a stickler for hygiene. He not only brushed his teeth impulsively, but he found himself constantly washing his hands and face.

After he felt that his face was clean enough, he reached for the hand towel that usually hung just to his right and found it to be missing.

Cursing the fact that he had forgotten to do his laundry the night before, he jerked his white shirt over his head and dried his face.

As he turned to leave the bathroom, he threw his shirt into the laundry bin by the door.

When he returned to his room, he grudgingly went over to his closet and pulled out what he intended to wear. This was a fairly simple task for him since most of what he owned was similar – if not exactly the same.

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After a few moments and quite a bit of stumbling on his part, Neville was dressed. 

Walking to the kitchen, he saw that he had left little time for any sort of breakfast, so he quickly grabbed a bottle of water – along with his jacket and keys – and walked out the door. Into the world, not knowing that the day would bring him much more than he bargained for.

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**Suspenseful? I hope so.**

**Leave reviews. I'll love you.**

**And check out Chiyo Thyra's new story: The Dawning of a New Evil; it's gonna kick ass.**

**Xo. Melly**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh hai, it's me again. Anyone miss me? No, okay. I've felt really badly lately about neglecting poor Neville, so I decided to try to work on his story. I've left it untouched for so long and I just wanted him to know I hadn't forgotten him. I had hoped it would be longer, but that's neither here nor there. I hope you like it. I had to end it there because a. I'm exhausted and b. SUSPENSE! :)**

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As he walked out onto the sidewalks, Neville's brown eyes didn't bother with watching anything but his worn trainers making their way across the pavement. He had spent the last year adjusting to life in the muggle world and he had come to find that, though he thought he seemed rather ordinary, there was something about him that rubbed muggles the wrong way.

If he had taken time to reflect on it, he probably would've noticed that they had no inclination that he was an extraordinary person with exceptional bravery and cunning magical abilities, but rather that his scars were a bit off-putting.

Regardless, he avoided their gaze as much as possible as he made his way through the crowded streets.

Upon reaching the little shop he worked at, he entered and said a brief 'good morning' to the girl working at the front before heading to the back.

As she usually did, the girl returned his greeting with a smile before returning to her customers.

The morning was as typical as most mornings. Neville sought refuge in the flora that he nursed in the greenhouse at the back of the store and most of the women who worked up front left him be, only bothering him when there was a question about this flower or that plant.

He enjoyed work. Not, perhaps, as much as he had at Hogwarts, but enough to get him by. Since Hannah had died, he had taken as many strides as possible to get him away from the world that was once all he knew. He couldn't stand seeing McGonagall's empathy. He had grown up knowing her as a stern woman, one who set much store by the rules, and to see her look at him with pity just made staying there unbearable. Not to mention that many of his students had known his story and took great pains to asking him about his life.

It was strange, really, that Hannah's death could chase him from the wizarding world. Especially considering that he hadn't really loved her. He had cared deeply about her and had tried to make her happy, but in the end, he had to admit that he didn't - and couldn't - love her.

When he did think about her death, all he could think about was how unmoved by it he had felt. It wasn't as if her death had affected him in a life altering manner. Yes, he had felt saddened by her passing, but mostly, he was just numb to everything. War did that to people, he supposed.

But the fact that she died had not actually been what had moved him to remove himself from his world. No, truthfully, he had used it as an excuse. He had partially needed to get away from the sad, pittying eyes of those he worked around, but mostly he needed to escape from the memories.

Not a day had went by while he was a professor that the memories hadn't caught up with him. Even when he was sleeping by Hannah, all he thought about was her. Sometimes, late at night when he had made love to Hannah, he had imagined it was her. In the darkness of their rooms, it was just that much easier. In his mind, he had constructed the perfect setting to their love affair. The of them had stayed in the room of requirement after a late D.A. meeting and, after much chatting, they had ended up on one of the cushions, clinging to one another. After that, one thing progressed into another until they were both naked and sweaty...

There was nothing that crushed him more than waking from the dream to realize that it was Hannah who called his name, Hannah who clung to his side and Hannah who slept next to him.

Yes, the memories were to blame for his resignation. They were just too poignant for him to stand being so close to everything that reminded him of her and everything reminded him of her.

Ultimately, he had removed himself from the wizarding world to keep the little things he did feel from suffocating him. The pain was just too unbearable for him, the knowledge that she was forever out of his reach... It was just too much.

So he threw himself into his work and tried his best to work as amiably as possible with the few muggle women in the florist. He tended to the flowers and they made small talk with the customers. It was the perfect arrangement... They stayed up front and he stayed back there.

"Neville," the girl from the front greeted as she stuck her head into his domain.

He looked up from the orchid he had been replotting. "Yes?"

She hesitated for a moment. "There's someone here to see you."

The words surprised him. Who would possibly be here to see him? "Thanks, Nina. I'll be out in just a minute."

With a nod in understanding, Nina turned and left the little room and made her way back to the cash register where she belonged.

While Neville moved the flower from one pot to the other, he pondered who could possibly be waiting to see him. The only person who actually knew where he was Harry and Harry had promised, had understood why he had chosen to do what he had done.

Maybe Harry needed something? He couldn't think of a single thing he might need, but Neville knew if someone was here, it was because Harry had felt it important that they know where he was.

Washing his hands dilligently, he dried them before strolling out into the store front.

The instant he looked up from the floor, he saw the long, curly hair and felt yet another pang in his chest.

Even with all his running, his past had caught up to him.

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**Regardless of whether you review or not, I hope you liked it! Have a nice day!**

**XO - Mella**


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